Theater Cubicles

Artistic Beginnings

Above are two pictures of Juliette.

Theater excites me. It's a wonderful marathon of preparation to the stage to, finally, curtain call. When the the theater lights shine on me make me- for just a mere two hours of showtime- the center of people's attention, I am left with a fast-beating heart and a massive boost of confidence. Yet, I don't see the audience looking back at me. It's a miracle. Judgmental eyes of society momentarily stop gazing at any mistake I can possibly make. In theater I can be perfect and imperfect. There are set things for me to do and, as long as I don't stray from them, I am safe. 

Theater entices my senses. I smell the hairspray in the costume room and the creaking wood of the stage under my feet. I see the spotlights above the stage smiling down on the performers. I hear the lines and its cadences that are worshiped by the performers. I feel the props under my fingers and, although they are fake, they are made real by the performers to embody true objects in life to the audience.

Writing doesn't have the same effect on me, but it is as equally gratifying as theater. Writing soothes me. It is my expression. There is no set right or wrong for what letters, words, sentences, paragraphs I formulate. It is freedom. Writing isn't constricting. One would say it does not have the enclosing wire fences of theater. Nevertheless, both make me feel like I have a place in this vast world.  

Everyone is torn between two things in their lifetimes. The number of times this occurs, however, depends on the individual. All my life I have been torn between nail polish colors, clothing items to purchase, movies to watch, or restaurants to dine in. That time, though, the decision to choose was more life-changing. What I chose would define my career and future as I know it.

In my freshman year in the American Academy of Arts High School I had a schedule consisting of classes any other high schooler could have. Although, I wouldn't say that it was characteristic of an average high schooler to have two hours of theater class in the morning and two of creative writing in the afternoon. I was even extraordinary compared to my peers in the Academy. Other students usually preferred to focus on one art form but I was torn. I could not decide which art to commit to so I could focus on it as a future career. 

The Academy, an overnight school, was lined with dorm rooms flooding with aspiring artists, whatever the branch. These teenagers were extraordinary. They had already found their identity in the fine arts and were deemed talented enough to be educated in them early on. 

It was the 24th of August, the week before school started, when my parents dropped me off at the school with my three extra-large luggages. My mother and I went to the sign-in at the front desk and picked up a map to find my room. One would think I'd know its location after coming here for camp three consecutive summers. That was not the case, however, as my mother and I had to locate the building by asking around and trying to make sense of the map in our hands.

The buildings were named after renowned artists. The music students entered the Mozart building with their instrument cases, the draw and paint students entered the Michelangelo building with packed oils and brushes. I hesitantly entered the Shakespeare building. I didn't know what qualified me to room in the third floor of the Theater Arts dorm over the Twain writing building's dorm rooms. I wondered if it was some sort of decision making factor in this new life I was stepping into. Maybe it was fate...? Nonetheless, I was there to pursue both until I found the one that was my calling.

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